


Lightning Bugs

by I_Eat_Bees



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 1960s, Anyways, Fireflies, Nonbinary Character, Other, Pyro the artist?, They/Them Pronouns for Pyro, basically just fluff, fight me Valve I dare you!, inpromptu stargazing, please let Engie sleep, texas toast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26456164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Eat_Bees/pseuds/I_Eat_Bees
Summary: Engie and Pyro and fireflies, or how Pyro got the nickname ‘Firebug’.
Relationships: Engineer/Pyro (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 84





	Lightning Bugs

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about guns.  
> Hello, TF2 fandom. I have no idea if you guys are still alive and functioning at this point (I’m about 13 years too late…) but damn, I like this game so much and I deal with my obsessions by compulsively writing about them. So here’s a thing. Beta-read by @echolovesfives (thanks again dude!)  
> This is set about eight months after the mercs are first hired. 
> 
> Also, because I had no clue how to write Pyro’s dialogue so that it was actually understandable to the reader, their words are in parentheses.

With a disparaging groan, the sentry gun shuddered to a standstill, sparks and smoke drifting out of the barrel along with the smell of oxidized metal. Another three hours of work gone to waste.

“Dammit!” Engie slammed a fist down onto the now-useless pile of scrap. He pulled his hand back almost immediately though, as his skin made contact with the hot metal.

_ It’s gotta be the overheating problem again, _ he mused, rubbing his burned hand sullenly. The sentry gun was running too hot, and the ammo was misfiring inside the barrel. It was a drearily familiar problem, and in theory a simple fix, but he must have forgotten to connect the coolant lines to the ammo intake when he’d assembled this latest failure. He wasn’t normally so careless, but two days of no sleep were wearing on him. 

He sighed, taking a deep breath and trying to regain his usual composure. At least he knew what went wrong this time, even if building another prototype to test would probably take another couple hours. 

He glanced over at the window at the far end of his workshop to find that the sky outside was dark. How long had he been working? Time often seemed to flow differently when he was focusing on a project; hours passed by in a haze, with the only indicator being the changing light and the rising level of chaos in his workshop. Now, Engie stretched his stiff arms and glanced at the clock on the wall, which read 9:50. Past dinnertime.

Engie had a brief moment of worry that he’d been on dinner duty, before he remembered that it was Tuesday, which was Heavy’s night to cook. Besides, the fact that no one (read: Scout) had come to loudly demand food confirmed without a doubt that he hadn’t been neglecting any responsibilities that night.

Just then, as if called up by his thoughts, there was a knock at the door. Still glowering at the failure of a machine on the workbench, Engie snatched a questionably clean rag from beside it and tried to get the worst of the grease off his hands as he ambled over to the door. It  _ was  _ Tuesday, right? He really hoped it was, and that he wasn’t going to open the door to find a very indignant Scout hollering for dinner. 

He reached the door, already preparing a number of scathing comments, and swung it open to find himself face-to-face with a familiar masked figure. Instantly, whatever he was about to say died on his tongue. 

“Pyro? What’s up, partner?” As he spoke, Engie tried to keep his prior frustrations out of his voice. Pyro didn’t seem fooled, however, and they tilted their head at his tone.

They were standing just outside the door, dressed in their usual flameproof suit and gripping the handle of an axe with both gloved hands. 

“(I heard a crash,)" Pyro mumbled, their voice muffled as always by their mask. “(Are you okay, Engie?)” 

It was impossible to tell what their expression was behind the blank lenses of their mask, which had been unnerving at first, but Engie found that not knowing didn’t bother him so much anymore. It hadn’t taken him too long to adapt to their muffled words, either, though a lot of the other RED mercs still had trouble understanding them. 

“Everything’s fine,” Engie assured Pyro. “Don’t you worry. I was just having some sentry troubles.” He gestured to the workbench and the still-smoking sentry. “Damn thing keeps on overheating. I’ve been trying to develop a new prototype with a faster firing speed and less recoil… sorry, uh, that’s probably not why you’re here, is it? Did you need something, Pyro?”

“(Maybe,)” Pyro sounded hesitant. “(Could… could you come and look at something?)”

“I suppose. What kind of something?”

“(All these weird lights… outside, by the fence.)”

Engie was instantly on high alert, his tiredness forgotten. There wasn’t supposed to be any combat during cease-fire hours, but at this point he wouldn’t put anything past the BLUs. No rules in war and all that...

A moment later, Pyro had grabbed Engie by the arm and was tugging him out into the hallway. Ordinarily, he would have objected to the physical contact; he could be a bit stingy about personal space when it wasn’t on his own terms, but to his surprise, he found he didn’t really mind so much. Perhaps it was because Pyro never seemed to think about it beforehand, and it was hard to be mad at someone who seemed to have a shaky grasp of social norms anyway.

Pyro led him down the hallway, past the kitchen and the ammo room, still gripping Engie’s arm as if they were afraid he’d turn around and leave if they let go. They didn’t seem too overly concerned about whatever they had seen outside, but Engie’s suspicious mind was still turning.  _ I should’ve grabbed a weapon,  _ he realized, too late. 

Finally, they came to the door at the end of the hall. Pyro didn’t even slow their pace, and instead of just turning the knob, opted to kick the door open. It flew back into the side of the building with a crunch. 

Pyro stepped out onto the front step and stopped there, releasing their hold on Engie’s wrist and gesturing to the stretch of dust and scrubby brush. There wasn’t really anything on this side of the buildings, aside from some very dry plant life and the high chain-link fence which separated the factory complex turned battleground from the rest of the world. 

On the other side of the buildings, to the east, the view from the base was blocked by high cliffs. But on this side, beyond the fence, the New Mexico desert stretched all the way to the still-glowing horizon.

Engie squinted out into the semi-darkness, looking for any sign of a threat. Every clump of vegetation looked like it could be hiding a Spy.  _ I should make a pair of infrared goggles,  _ he mused.  _ That could really come in handy. Shouldn’t be too- _

“(There!)” said Pyro. They pointed to a nearby sagebrush, where a tiny speck of light had blinked on, and then just as quickly blinked off again. “(And another one!)”

Engie couldn’t help himself, he started to laugh. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been awake for two days straight, or simply relief that he wasn’t about to take a trip through Respawn. 

“Lightning bugs? That’s what’s got you so riled up?”

“(You see them, too?)” 

“Yeah, of course! They’re just insects, partner! Nothing to worry about.” 

Pyro shrugged their shoulders with an indistinct mumble, and Engie suddenly felt bad for laughing at them. After all, how were they to know the little bugs were harmless? He should have been praising them for their vigilance. 

“(Just bugs…)” Pyro mused, raising a gloved hand toward the lights. 

“That’s all,” Engie confirmed. “They’re completely harmless. Lightning bugs. Or at least, that’s what we always called ‘em back home.” He glanced slyly over at Pyro. “Some folk call ‘em fireflies.” As he’d expected, his companion snapped to rapt attention, and Engie chuckled. “Yeah. Thought you might appreciate that.”

“(They don’t look like fire,)” said Pyro. “(Not enough colors. But I thought maybe… they were just in here.)” They tapped their forehead — or was it their mask?

“They’re as real as can be,” Engie reassured them. Not for the first time, he wondered what Pyro saw when they looked through the lenses of their mask. Perhaps they were just as crazy as the others insisted. But there were moments, sometimes, when they seemed more lucid, almost… well, normal. And there was still the matter of those little white letters printed between Pyro’s lenses: Optical Mask. Now what exactly did that mean? 

Questions for another time, though, when Engie wasn’t quite so sleep deprived, and when the situation wasn’t as odd as his current one. It had been so long since he’d seen lightning bugs, and never so far south before. Not to mention, he was watching them with  _ Pyro,  _ of all people.

A tiny part of him wondered if he was already asleep, maybe back in his workshop dozing over the newest sentry blueprints. It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. But even if it was, well… he might as well see how it played out.

“Come on,” he said to Pyro, brushing a hand across their shoulder and walking out towards the fence. “You don’t usually see lightning bugs in this part of the world. Best enjoy ‘em while they’re here.” 

As he walked, more of the little lights rose up around his feet. One even landed on his glove for a few moments. Their numbers seemed to be growing exponentially. Or perhaps more were arriving from wherever these ones had come from. Maybe it was a mass migration of some kind. Did lightning bugs migrate?

After locating a patch of ground relatively clear of scrub, Engie sat down, wincing as his tired back muscles protested. The ground was still invitingly warm from the day’s heat. 

A moment later, there was a quiet  _ “Oof,”  _ as Pyro flopped down next to them. They sat with their legs tucked under their body, casually leaning their weight on one arm; a dark silhouette against the faint purple of the sky beyond the fence. 

Lightning bugs were everywhere, blinking in every sagebrush and clump of tobosa grass. Engie reached out to cup one gently in his hand. A tune was starting to curl its way through his head, and his fingers itched to play it out on his guitar. It had a slow but rhythmic tempo, like a heartbeat. 

“Really something, aren’t they?” He lifted up the little bug in his hands, and Pyro leaned closer to look at it. 

"Here, hold out your hand,” Engie said to them. “And stay still.” Cautiously, Pyro obliged, and Engie dropped the little bug onto their glove. Pyro gasped, but to their credit, didn’t move an inch. 

"(It's  so small!)” they whispered. 

“Right?” Engie smiled. “And yet, in some places, those little things light up the whole darn sky.”

“(What makes them glow that way?)” 

“You know, I’ve got no clue.” 

“Pfft,” scoffed Pyro. “(Not true. You know everything.)”

“Now you’re just poking fun at me,” Engie laughed. “Much obliged, though.”

“(You’re very welcome.)”

“Medic might be able to tell you,” he continued, watching the light in Pyro’s hands wink, a solitary eye. Next to him, Pyro shuddered. The lightning bug abruptly went out as it flew out of their hands.

“(No thank you.)”

“He’s ain’t that bad.” Engie glanced over at Pyro, who was rubbing their arms like their suit was full of ants. “I mean, he is a bit…  _ eccentric,  _ but he means well. At least, I hope he does.”

"(I don’t like doctors,)” said Pyro. Their voice had gone cold.

It did make sense; none of them really knew where Pyro had come from, or what their life had been like before becoming a mercenary, but it couldn’t have been anything good. After all, normal, well-adjusted people didn’t sign up to shoot each other over gravel in the middle of Nowhere, New Mexico. 

“Rightly so, I’d imagine,” Engie said softly. “I’m sorry, partner.”

“(It’s okay,)” said Pyro. For some reason they seemed a bit taken aback, but the tension left their frame as they settled back to gaze out at the lightning bugs. He hadn’t meant to upset them, but thankfully they didn’t seem to be the sort to hold grudges. Their mood could change very quickly, he knew; one minute, they might seem angry and withdrawn, and the next they would be cheerfully drawing cute little creatures on a piece of scrap paper. What exactly went on inside that head of theirs?

_ Am I staring?  _ Engie hastily shifted his gaze out to beyond the fence, to the sagebrush and the fireflies he had stayed out here to admire in the first place. Still, he couldn’t help but glance at his companion every now and then out of the corner of his eye. 

Once, Pyro turned their head just a bit, and light from one of the windows caught in the lenses of their mask. Engie thought he caught a glimpse of dark eyes glittering behind them. But it was only for a moment, so he couldn’t be sure. 

Side by side in a comfortable silence, they stared out over the sea of tiny lights, which glimmered like the streetlamps of a faraway city. Engie’s thoughts wandered to his childhood, of the Carolina swamps or the Pennsylvanian countryside as viewed from the passenger seat of his father’s battered blue pickup. He had been born in Bee Cave, Texas, a town so small you couldn’t even find it on a map, but his father’s work had dragged them all across the country. 

There had been nights in the East when the whole world had seemed to drown in lightning bugs, bright enough to outshine the moon. His father hadn’t cared much about them —“They’re just insects, Dell,” he’d say — but they had fascinated young Engie, who had caught them by the jarful. He’d put the jars by his bedside with some vague notion of keeping them as a bug-powered nightlight, only to discover in the morning that the lightning bugs had devoured each other. Only a few were left, shuffling around the bottom of the jar amidst loose wings and half-eaten carapaces. After that, he’d chosen to admire them in their natural habitat only. And he did still admire them, despite the revelation of their savage nature. Or maybe even a little because of it.

Engie shook himself from his thoughts and stretched his aching shoulders. Something cracked in a less-than-reassuring way. The sun had completely disappeared by now, and night’s chill had taken hold, but still he didn’t feel much inclined to get up and go inside. Vaguely, he wondered what time it was. How long had he been sitting here with Pyro?

The lightning bugs had all but disappeared, too. Only a few solitary lights remained, winking at them from the brush. He hadn’t even noticed their absence. 

Pyro was lying propped up on their elbows, gazing off into the desert and tapping a hand to some imaginary tune. As Engie stirred, however, they turned to look at him.

“(The firebugs are almost gone,)” they remarked. 

“Yeah. Guess they went back to whatever strange business they had here in the first place.” Just then, Pyro’s word usage registered. “Hold up. What did you call ‘em?”

“(Firebugs,)” Pyro mumbled. “(I couldn’t decide which word I liked more. Firefly has ‘fire’ in it, but I like the way you say ‘lightning bug’. So I combined them.)”

“I like it,” said Engie, feeling his traitorous face flush. It didn’t take much to make him blush, which was downright annoying at the best of times, but hopefully it was too dark out for Pyro to notice. 

“(Engie?)” Pyro said suddenly. “(I know the others don’t like having me around. I scare them, I think.)” They sounded so matter of fact that Engie was taken aback, but he stayed quiet as they continued. 

“(I don’t know why you spend so much time with me. But I do like spending time with you, and it helps to not be alone all the time. So… thanks, Engie.)”

“Call me Dell.” The words were out before he could even consider them, and he frowned a moment later at his own carelessness. As per their contracts, none of the mercenaries were supposed to reveal their real names to each other. 

“(Dell…)” said Pyro, like they were trying out the word. “(It suits you).”

“Thanks.” Engie grinned at this, running a hand over the back of his shaved head. He tried not to think about that very specific clause, the one promising strict contract termination (at the very least) to any merc who revealed identifying details about their personal lives. After all, where was the harm in just a name? 

“And how about you?” he asked. “Got a name besides Pyro?”

But they were already shaking their head. 

“(Don’t have one. It’s just Pyro.)”

“That’s all right,” Dell said. “Hell, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

He lay back, arms behind his head, and tried to squash the unexpected disappointment that had sprung up inside him. It was none of his business, anyway. 

But even after eight months of working alongside them, he still knew so little about Pyro. Not their age, not their nationality, not even their gender. 

_ Does any of that really matter, though?  _ There was more to a person than statistical data, and even if certain aspects of Pyro were still mysteries, there were other things to know about them. That their favorite flavor was strawberry, for example, or that they made most of their weapons themself. That they not only liked to cook, but were pretty darn good at it, too. And that they enjoyed his company as much as he had started to enjoy theirs. After all, weren’t those the things that really mattered about a person?

That is... assuming they were a person. 

“Hey, Pyro?” he said suddenly, rolling over to face them. 

“(Yes, Dell?)” 

“You’re… you’re not from outer space, are you?” 

Pyro burst into muffled laughter, which shook their shoulders and made Dell’s heart feel a bit too big for his chest. They leaned a bit closer, holding a hand to the filter of their mask as if to stifle their laughter, before they said quietly;

“(I’m not telling.)”

Engie managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds. Then, he and Pyro were dissolving into fits of laughter, loud enough that the others could probably hear them from inside the base. It was ridiculous, but laughing at nothing felt surprisingly euphoric. It was probably the sleep deprivation. 

Pyro stretched out on their back, still laughing as they stared up at the sky, where stars had started to appear.

“(That’s the one,)” they said, gesturing at a bright point of light and lowering their voice conspiratorially. “(I’m from that star right there.)”

" Nice try,” Engie chuckled, still trying to get his breathing back under control. “But that’s not even a star. It’s the planet Venus.” 

“(See?)” said Pyro. “(Like I said. You know everything.)”

Engie didn’t even argue this time, just smiled up at the sky.

“Thanks, Firebug.”

The nickname slipped out completely on accident. About to apologize, Engie glanced over at Pyro to see if they minded. But if Pyro had even heard, they didn’t protest. They just stayed lying with their arms behind their head, a mirror of Engie’s pose. 

_ Hell,  _ Engie silently cursed.  _ I really gotta shut my mouth before something stupider slips out.  _ He was just so tired… 

Eight months ago, he would never have let his guard down around any of his teammates, no matter how little sleep he was running on. Especially not Pyro. But slowly, he’d found himself becoming accustomed to their company, and whatever fear he’d once had of them had disappeared.

His eyelids felt heavy, and the sounds of insects and the wind rattling the brush were soporific. Above him, the stars had begun to blur together into dappled light, a swirl of milk in a black coffee sky.

He should probably go back inside (he had a sentry to finish, after all), but it was just so comfortable here on the ground, side by side with Pyro. And heck, he was probably safer with them than he’d ever been, even inside the base in his own bed. If there was danger, they would know. They would protect him. 

It was an odd feeling, putting your trust in someone other than yourself, but Engie decided he could get used to it.

○○○○○

When Engie awoke early the next morning, daylight was trickling in through the window of his workshop. Dust motes drifted sedately through the air. The wrecked sentry still sat on the workbench, a harmless heap of metal. It seemed that testing the new sentry design would have to wait.

_ Just how late did I stay up last night?  _ Engie wondered. He must have been too tired last night to go back to his room, and opted instead to sleep on the cot he’d set up in the corner of his workshop for this exact reason. His muscles felt stiff and weary, and he was still tired. And still in his day clothes, he realized.

Drowsily, he felt his forehead to check if he was still wearing his goggles, too, which he wasn’t. At least he’d remembered to take them off this time. 

Suddenly, memories of last night came rushing back to him. He sat up, shoving away the thin blanket. Fireflies, Pyro… had that even been real? 

He glanced over at the desk next to the cot. His goggles had been left there, along with a scrap of lined paper that looked as if it had been torn out of a notebook. Engie picked it up to look at it.

It was a drawing of a little cartoon bug, a beetle with a glowing abdomen and wings outstretched in flight. The artist had signed it in loose, curly handwriting: 

_ ~ Firebug  _

Engie realized he was smiling like an idiot, but for some reason he just couldn’t seem to stop. As he changed into a new shirt, brushed the worst of the dirt from his overalls, and gathered together his tools for the day’s battle, the smile stayed determinedly in place. 

“All right, maggots!” Soldier’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Rise and shine! It’s another glorious day of kicking BLU’s ass!” 

Engie took one last look at the drawing, before tucking it safely into his shirt pocket and heading out the door.


End file.
